


Keep my arms the rest of the night

by ber_g



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asthma, Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Repressed middle-aged men boning down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 15:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ber_g/pseuds/ber_g
Summary: This thing between Eddie and Richie is kind of new and kind of old, and they'll figure it out eventually.





	Keep my arms the rest of the night

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the choose-your-own-adventure Eddie-lives post-Chapter 2 AU of your choice. I love these losers.
> 
> Title from Don't Swallow The Cap by The National.

Richie’s hands are shaking on Eddie’s skin.

He knows this but he can’t actually stop them, caught staring at the stupid crooked joint on his right thumb where it presses up and down against the thin skin over Eddie’s hipbone. The hair hovering over the waistband of his pants is neat and dark and kind of making Richie’s mouth water, especially when Eddie squirms under his fingers and it pulls the fabric around his dick. He’s hard, or getting there, and Richie’s getting a little uncomfortable in his own jeans just looking at him. He presses his fingertips in a little more, pitching Eddie’s hips up a little and getting a startled huff and Ed’s hands clenching in the bedspread for his efforts.

“...gonna move?” Eddie sounds impatient and also smothered in affection, some stupid thing that makes Richie’s chest hurt and makes him want to annoy Eddie for the rest of his life, probably. He hauls Eddie’s hips up and goes for his fly with one hand, paws his pants down and Eddie arches up on his toes to help. Together they get them down to his knees and from there Richie can yank them off, and then sit back up on his heels for the realization that he’s basically crouching in front of a mostly-naked and kind of hard Eddie Kaspbrak and his fifteen-year-old self is doing fucking cartwheels right now. 

Eddie’s got his little worried wrinkle going on, and his hair is messed up where Richie had his hands all over it a few minutes ago, and they’re really doing this. Richie doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He’s not a virgin, even if he’s not as experienced as some of his routines imply. And Eddie was married, so he’s definitely had a blowjob before, probably. Something mean and nasty still builds in his stomach, though, no matter how much air he gulps in. _Don’t think about the other boys, Richie, or they’ll_ know,_ they’ll know what you are and you really won’t have any friends left._ Shitty dive-bar hookups and a couple ill-fated Grindr excursions are a hell of a ways away from this, on his knees in front of his best friend.

Eddie knows him though, reads Richie like a fucking billboard when he manages to pull himself out of his own head long enough to look, and he leans forward and tugs Richie in by his ears until their mouths smush together again. The tension drains out of Richie like someone pulled a plug and sent the muddy bathwater swamping his head spiralling down into the pipes. Eddie’s easy and close like this, so familiar, bites softly at his lip until Richie opens up and lets him in like he always does. Richie’s hands paw at his sides, suddenly can’t get enough of how Eddie’s bare chest feels feverish through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He pushes up into Eddie’s space, topples him back onto the bed with an _oof_ that gets them both laughing into it. He feels like he could melt here, just sink into all the cracks of Eddie and be content to stay there.

And then Eddie pulls a knee up onto the bed, tugs his thigh up against Richie’s and now they’re pressed together dick to dick and oh, yeah, Richie remembers what he wanted to do. He pulls back from trying to eat Eddie’s face, starts dropping a wet line of kisses down his sternum, pulls his leg down with him so they’re back where they started, Eddie on the edge of the bed and Richie on the floor in front of him sucking a hickey into the little bit of paunch next to his belly button and tugging on the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. 

Eddie yelps and thumps the side of his head when Richie bites down a little, claws at Richie’s shirt until he gets the hint and yanks it over his head too. His glasses come with it and he rescues them from Eddie’s grabby mitts, folds them and sets them to the side on the bedspread and now they’re both shirtless but Eddie’s not naked enough, okay, Richie’s gotta get these underwear off him as soon as he can manage, pulls and prods at Eddie until he gets the message and scoots his ass up so Richie can bunch them off him and. Yeah. That’s Eddie’s dick, chubby and interested, nestled in a dark thatch of pubic hair. Eddie’s thighs under Richie’s hands go in an easy sprawl, like he kind of wants to hump up but he’s restraining himself. Richie manages to get his eyes off proceedings to look up at Eddie, who’s looking pinched and squinting down at him. 

“You’re so quiet, it’s weird.”

“What, Spazbrak, am I supposed to break into sonnets at the sight of your magnificent meat rocket?”

“You fucking asshole. Don’t call it that, it’s so gross.”

“Baloney pony. Skin flute. Pork sword.”

“Fuck you, Richie.”

“_Turgid._” Eddie gives a garbled yell and looks like he’s gonna start ranting so Richie takes the opportunity and goes down. One hand on Eddie’s flank, one wrapped around the base of his dick, and the head slides over his lower lip easy. Eddie shuts the fuck up - well, stops talking, gasps a little and grabs for Richie’s hair. He yanks a little too hard when Richie closes his mouth around him and gets his tongue involved but Richie is so far past caring he doesn’t really notice, just leans into it. Eddie shudders and unclenches, and the way his fingernails scrape against Richie’s scalp is gonna be jerk-off fodder for the next six months at least.

“Jesus Christ, Richie.”

“Jss Rishy’s fime.”

“Stop talking around my dick.”

“Mm-mm.”

“Oh, fuck, keep - changed my mind, keep talking.” Richie can’t tell who’s shaking more, or if they’re just in a feedback loop from blowjob-er to blowjob-ee. He sucks a little and Eddie groans, low and burning, and Richie lets go of his waist to fumble his jeans open and get a hand around his dick. He’s trying to keep his rhythm going and not just fucking gag himself on Eddie’s dick like he kind of wants to. His cocksucking skills might be underutilized but they seem to be doing the job, from the way Eddie’s clearly struggling to contain his little abortive bucks up into Richie’s mouth. 

Richie shifts a little closer, leans on Eddie’s thigh and tilts his head so he can really get into the groove. He’s trying to keep things smooth and even, in-out in a slick drag over his tongue, working Eddie a little deeper without racing for the finish line. He’s not even really jerking himself off, just kind of cradling his dick in his boxers, bobbing his head in Eddie’s lap and liquefying down against him. The head of Eddie’s dick bumps the roof of his mouth and he rolls with it, leans in a little further and Eddie gasps and twists.

He keeps doing it, encouraged, trying not to feel dirty and gross for how much he likes the almost-gag of Eddie’s dick pressing into the back of his throat, but then - Eddie’s still gasping, and not breathing in between, and Richie pulls back and lets go, knocks himself out of his fuzz to look up, scrambling for his glasses. He shoves them on hard enough to pinch the bridge of his nose and now he can see clearly Eddie’s face, flushed and panicky, heaving chest and trembling arms and he’s not _breathing right_, familiar panic swelling up like bile in Richie’s mouth.

He staggers to his feet, nearly trips reaching for Eddie’s hoodie they tossed on the chair earlier. His hands are shaking badly enough to get tangled in the pockets as he tries to pull out the inhaler. Finally the plastic thing shuttles into his hand and he’s scrambling back, shaking it as he knee walks up to Eddie and holds it up to his face. Eddie’s hands are quivering where they wrap around Richie’s and press down the button. The medication hisses out into his throat and Eddie shudders his way forward, curling over Richie’s shoulders and sucking in deep, raspy breaths as he comes down.

“Hey, hey, s’okay Eds, I gotcha.” He pats awkwardly at Eddie’s back, sticky with sweat, and resolutely ignores how bruised and slick the words feel coming out of his mouth. He’s vaguely aware Eddie’s babbling against his neck, _sorry_ and _fuck_ and _Richie_. 

“Shut up. Don’t be sorry.” Eddie scowls into his skin, hauls in a deep breath to compose himself and pushes back enough to be nose-to-nose with Richie. Richie can imagine what he looks like, eyes blown even wider than his glasses usually make them, mouth red and sloppy. Eddie looks fond though, grabs for his hands and knocks his nose into Richie’s cheek. “I am sorry though. Jesus. Fucking asthma attack because I got a blowjob.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I puked on a guy I was making out with?”

“Yeah, like four times. You told me that after the first time you kissed me.”

“Shit. Well, hey, there was this one time I was sucking your mom’s dick - ” Eddie smothers the rest of the joke back into Richie’s mouth with a vengeance, pretty sure he’s gonna bloody Richie’s lip doing that one of these days but, well. Some sacrifices are worth it. Especially the ones that end with Eddie all hot and bothered and knocking his forehead into Richie’s glasses, and fucking elbowing him in the ribs, because Kaspbrak filled out over the years but apparently his elbows stayed scrawny little blades. Richie yelps around Eddie’s tongue and tries to throw him back on the bed, kind of succeeds but Eddie clings to him like a koala and topples them both back and then, okay, this is familiar, this is Eddie snickering up at him and rolling his hips and - Richie had a plan, here, really, but Eddie’s always been good at torpedo-ing those.

Hands slide down his back, grab his ass and fucking knead because Eddie’s a vindictive little fucker in the sack and Richie is so, so not complaining. He lets his neck go slack and starts leaving messy, wet kisses under Eddie’s jaw that make him squirm uncomfortably, like he can’t decide if the kissing outweighs the saliva Richie’s getting all over him. Sharp knuckles jab into Richie’s stomach where Eddie’s trying to get his hand in between them, succeeds mostly in twisting Richie’s dick enough to actually kind of hurt but it’s fine because a second later he gets it right and Richie can’t really do much more than ride it out, where Eddie’s got both of them wrapped in a sweaty hand and he’s making these kind of pitched gasping noises that are slowly killing Richie’s brain cells.

The angle is awful, Richie’s feet are still on the carpet and his jeans are barely down his ass but Eddie’s close enough to the edge of the bed to push up off the floor and into Richie and, yeah, Richie can deal with an awkward angle and the beginnings of a cramp in his calf, if the tradeoff is Eddie squirming and groaning and jerking their dicks together. Fuck, he wonders if this is the way Eddie does it himself, visions of Eddie as like, a freshman in college, still kind of gangly and awkward, furtively jacking it in the dorm while his roommate slept, just this pace, slow and building. Eddie’s knees are knocking into Richie’s legs with every drag, his whole body gets into it and Richie wants to fuck him so bad but there’s no way he’s lasting long enough for that so he just presses down, tries to pin Eddie still against the bedspread and only manages to smother him a little, Eddie groaning and yanking on them both with his trembling hand and coming all over Richie’s stomach and his own.

He shakes through it and then just lays there, a little dazed and grinning, keeps his fingers on Richie and lets him rut into it, gasping into Eddie’s collarbone. Richie props himself on one elbow and jams his own hand between them. His fingers lace with Eddie’s, all sticky and slick and hot, and there’s the edge, and Richie’s crashing headfirst into it. He comes with a pathetic sobbing moan and Eddie’s free hand curling in his hair, neat nails scritching his scalp.

“Well,” says Eddie, after a few minutes have passed and Richie’s weighing the benefits of moving so his legs don’t go any number than they are already or just staying here all cradled up against Eddie for the rest of eternity, “I guess that’s one way to get you to shut the fuck up.”

“Oh you little bastard.” Richie shoves up, kicks his jeans the rest of the way off in a move that definitely doesn’t look dignified or cool. He flops further up the bed, drags a flailing Eddie up with him by the armpits - still as ticklish as Richie discovered he was in sixth grade, a fact he used mercilessly until Eddie kneed him in the nuts on ‘accident’ and didn’t look sorry at all - until he can get his arms around him. Eddie grumbles but settles under Richie’s chin, breath evening out slowly.

“We’re like, completely covered in jizz. Don’t tell me you don’t have wet wipes around here somewhere, cause I won’t believe you.”

“Whose fault is that, asshole? Blowjobs are self-cleaning, I’m not the one who jumped on me like some kind of, of wild animal.”

“_Eddie._ Baby. I know I basically creamed my pants five minutes ago but you can’t go around just casually talking about how you swallow. My testicles will shrivel up and die from overuse.” Eddie snorts against his sternum, and Richie can feel him wrinkle his nose when he tilts his head down to consider the drying mess smearing around on their stomachs.

“Fuck it. I’m too tired to be grossed out. You can scrub me down in the shower later.”

“Mm. Can do.” Richie shuffles his glasses off and lets the room go blurry and warm around them. Eddie’s heavy on his chest and it’s a comforting weight, shit he’s dreamed about since he figured out the correlation between his hand and his dick and shit he never could’ve thought up even if he hadn’t had Eddie snatched out of his head for three decades. After a long second Eddie’s hand crawls up Richie’s wrist to tangle their sweaty fingers together. Richie breathes out and holds on to him.


End file.
